"Okay," my husband whispered back.

Then he was gone.

I went to the truck that I'd left idling, blasted the heat and searched it. I found a first aid kit and two blankets. Rifling through it, I found it was a regular first aid kit, nothing to help with a bleeding gunshot wound.

I grabbed the blankets, ran back to Irv and did my best to wrap him as tight as I could with blanket one then covered him with blanket two, tucking him tight all around. He moaned a couple of times while I did this but didn't regain consciousness. Still, moans were good. Moans meant alive. I'd take moans.

Then I bent, kissed his cheek quickly, whispered in his ear, "Thank you, hold tight, stay alive and we'll get you help as soon as we can."

Then, belatedly, though I'd never fucking tell Ty in a million fucking years that I had delayed, I ran to the truck, jumped in, closed the doors, locked them, put that fucker in gear and raced the fuck away.

Ty His phone rang, it was in his hand, he hadn't had a call from his wife for twenty fucking minutes so he flipped it open without looking at his display and said, "Talk."

"Tate," he heard. "Aspen Valley Hospital. Both your father and Lexie are here. He's in surgery, she's getting checked over."

"Right," Ty said, his heart, lungs and gut not loosening even a little.

"How far out are you?" Tate asked.

He looked at his speedometer. Then he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the highway patrolman who had been on his ass but keeping a distance for the last hour and a half.

Then he said to Tate, "Half an hour."

"Okay, brother," Tate said quietly. "Quick brief. You need this now and you need to keep yourself safe drivin' that fuckin' car while I tell it to you. Then you need to process it. Then you need to bury it because you gotta have your shit together when you get here. This was all about you but now it isn't. Now, you gotta look after your wife."

"Tate " Ty growled.

Tate didn't delay. "I've seen Lexie. She's got some bruises, she's trembling like a motherfucker, scrapes from a dash through the forest and Fuller clocked her with a gun butt so looks like you two'll have matchin' scars."

Fuck, fuck, fucking motherfucker.

Tate kept going. "They're worried about shock. She killed that fuckwad and no matter why she did it and she had no choice, she is freaking out. Her drama that she endured probably isn't helping. Seein' your Dad the way he was also isn't helping. She's a fuckin' mess. I got Laurie on gettin' to your house and gettin' her some clothes. She's all over it."

"Right," Ty bit off.

Silence then, cautiously, "Okay, now, your father came in flatline."

Ty stared at the road but his hand on the steering wheel tightened.

Tate continued, "They shocked him, got a weak heartbeat, rushed him into surgery. But, brother, that is not lookin' good."

"Right," Ty whispered.

"Maggie is goin' to Reece as we speak."

"Right," Ty repeated on a whisper.

"Keaton is locating your brother."

Ty didn't respond.

Silence then, quietly, "Where's your head?"

"I'm good."

Again quietly he got, "Good. See you in half an hour."

"Right."

Then he flipped his phone closed.

Then he made a one hour journey in half an hour.

Angel Angel Pena opened his eyes and felt someone in the room.

He didn't turn his head because, no matter the fucking painkillers they were pumping into him, he'd learned movement didn't feel too good.

So he shifted his eyes and saw Ty Walker standing three feet away.

Fuck him.

He shifted his eyes further and saw Lexie asleep in an armchair, knees to her chest, the arm that had been holding them had fallen so her hand was at her ankle, her head was turned, chin tucked in, cheek to the back of the chair.

But she had a black eye and a thin strip of white holding together an angry, red and purple gash.

His eyes went back to Ty who had moved to the side of the bed.

"Shift?" he asked and his voice was a harsh rasp. This was mostly because he hadn't used it much. It was also because the day before they'd yanked the tube that had been down his throat for four days.

Ty shook his head and answered, "Fuller."

He forgot not to move and his eyebrows shot up.

Good news. That didn't hurt. Maybe he was getting better.

"Fuller?"

"Lost his shit, kidnapped my wife, took her to a hunting cabin for reasons we'll never know, got her with the butt of my gun before my Dad stormed in. Lexie got away but tagged my gun before she went. Dad took a bullet to the chest. He died twice but now he's in better shape than you. Fuller went after her. On a cliff in a nightgown, Lexie drilled him with six. He's very dead. She's very alive." He paused, held Angel's eyes and whispered, "Now back to sunshine."

Angel tried another movement and found it didn't hurt to smile.

Then he heard, "Angel?"

His eyes shifted again to watch Lexie folding out of the chair.

Shit, but only Lexie Walker could have a black eye and an angry gash on her eyebrow and still look beautiful.

She moved to him and Ty shifted slightly so Lexie could get in there and she did, immediately curling her fingers around his hand.

Her blue-gray eyes held his. "How are you, honey?"

He held her blue-gray eyes, they were warm, concerned, searching and he felt her lightly squeeze his hand.

That was all he was ever going to get. All he was ever going to get from Lexie Walker.

And he'd take it.

"Better now," he answered then she proved him wrong.

She gave him a bright smile and her light shone down on him, bright, blinding, beautiful.

He took that too.

Epilogue.

Catching Up Five years later...

Forearms in the bed, my husband's big hands spanning my hips lifting them up, my knees were inches off the bed, I'd pushed my thighs back and pressed their insides to the outsides of his as I took his driving cock.

If he wanted to take me from behind, he was so tall, his legs so long, this was how we had to do it unless he stood by the side of the bed.

I liked it, like, a lot. That power, the reminder of how big he was, the strength that was at his command. It was a huge, freaking turn on.

I was close, God, I was close, I slid an arm out in front of me, under the pillows, pressing my hand into the headboard, I tilted my ass up half an inch to get more, held on tighter with my thighs and pressed into my hand to give me leverage to push back.

Ty pulled out and dropped me to my knees.

My head shot back and my neck twisted, my mouth opening to protest but he was leaning over me, his arms circling, one at my belly, one slanting across my chest. He pulled me up on my knees and one hand immediately went to my breast, fingers rolling my nipple, the other hand moved instantly downward, finger rolling my clit.

My head fell back, colliding with him, I turned it and begged. "Want your cock back, baby."

He didn't respond. He never responded. He just kept doing what he wanted to do.

And it felt way nice.

Still.

My hips moved with his hand, my hand moved to cover his at my breast, my other one curled behind me and wrapped around his cock.

"Honey," I breathed.

He didn't stop.

I started stroking, gripping hard, pulling, sliding, moving fast.

Ty growled in his throat.

I tipped my head back to see what I could of his face but didn't get the chance, his mouth came down on mine and his tongue darted in and out, matching my strokes on his cock.

I gripped harder and moved faster, as did my hips and his tongue.

There I was again, God, so close. I reached for it and my hand gripped tight but stopped as he gave it to me and it was so good, my entire body shook with it.

Then I was on my back, my husband on top of me, driving deep, grunting with each stroke, his hands at my hips yanking me down as he thrust up. I had nearly all of his weight. I was hazy from a really fucking good orgasm that hindered my breathing and his weight hindered it more. I didn't care. This happened, not often, only when I wound Ty up. Therefore, I liked it, snapping his control. And he never did it long; he only did it when he was close.

And he was close.

Then he was there.

I felt it, watched it, listened to it and loved it.

He'd shoved my knees up high at his sides and I pressed them in and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he shifted his weight to a forearm in the bed, the other arm moving to curl around my lower back as his hips continued to move. He was gliding. He did this too, and often, taking me gentle after he took me hard.

I liked that too.

When our breath settled and while he was still gliding, I turned my head, found his ear with my lips and whispered, "I'm pregnant."

His body stilled, mid-glide, half-in, half-out.

Then he slid fully in and stayed there but lifted his head and caught my eyes.

"Seriously?" he rumbled.

I grinned. "Seriously."

"Babe, we've been tryin' for like, two days."

I bit my lip not to giggle, succeeded, let it go and informed him, "More like a month."

His eyes drifted over my head and he muttered, "Feels like two days."

"It's been a month, hubby."

It hadn't. It had been six weeks but I decided not to say that.

His eyes came back to mine. "Jesus. Your fuckin' womb's more fertile than the heartland."